


You Lost The Starlight In Your Eyes

by Tilly_Hyena



Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Gen, Recovery, ShadowClan is Mentioned, Songfic, ThunderClan (Warriors), Trauma, also seriously heed the graphic violence tag. its really graphic in some of these chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tilly_Hyena/pseuds/Tilly_Hyena
Summary: ThunderClan has the best medicine cat they could have asked for. Thriftcloud is understanding, calm, reasonable, and - most importantly - extremely skilled. He's never lost a patient; ThunderClan is almost overflowing, thanks to the low deathcount. Between him and his little prodigy Mistypaw, ThunderClan is unstoppable. But no fortune lasts forever. When a young apprentice named Finchpaw is caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, Thriftcloud realizes something very important: Sometimes, what we're mentally prepared for does not align with what we're good at.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Tried and Tried

The sun was high in the sky, its warmth spilling down into the ThunderClan camp. Thriftcloud's whiskers caught on the sunlight and the dust as he padded into the sandy expanse with his apprentice, Mistypaw, at his side.

Some of the warriors greeted him as he passed, but most paid little mind. That was fine. The last few days had been calm; even tranquil. He walked to his den and set down their herb cache, with Mistypaw doing the same.

"Do you remember what we got?" he asked her.

"Dandelion," she mewed, "Oak leaves, feverfew and... Poppy seeds?"

"Very well-done," Thriftcloud purred. "Alright, now, do you remember what those are for?"

"Oh! Poppy seeds help with anxiety and sleeplessness," Mistypaw said, her tail flicking and thumping. "Feverfew brings down fevers and chills. Oak leaves stop infections. Dandelions... help with beestings?"

"Very nice." Thriftcloud ran his tail along Mistypaw's back in praise. "Alright, and what should we be careful about with poppy seeds?"

"Foxglove seeds," she mewed. "They look like poppy seeds but they can kill a cat with just a few licks. Poppy seeds are bigger and black, foxglove seeds are dark brown and smaller."

Thriftcloud's chest glowed with pride. He was such a good teacher, he decided, and she was such a good learner. "Go get some freshkill," he mewed. "We can eat before we put all this away."

"Awesome! I'm _starved_ ," Mistypaw giggled before bounding out of the stone den. Thriftcloud sat down and started preemptively seperating the leaves from one another, humming.

He was beginning to wonder where Mistypaw had even gone when a warrior - Cardinalflower - burst into his den, making him jump out of his skin.

"You need to come quickly," Cardinalflower mewed, her voice breathless and hoarse.

"What's wrong?"

"Finchpaw got hit on the thunderpath," Cardinalflower panted. "It's bad. It's really bad."

"Okay," Thriftcloud mewed. "Fet-"

"Don't," Cardinalflower said, shaking her head as if bees had gone into her ears. "Don't bring her. Don't bring Mistypaw."

Thriftcloud flicked an ear. Then he nodded and turned, scooping up some cobwebs and bolting out of the den.

He ran all the way across the territory, which really sucked with something in his mouth. By the time the acrid smell of the thunderpath reached him he felt like his lungs were going to pop with how much they burned and ached. There were sticks and tiny stones jutting into his pawpads from how hard he was running.

He skidded to a pause just before he slid through the hedges at the edge of the thunderpath. The tangy smell of blood hit him first - coppery and hot. Then he noted the trail of thick, red blood trailing from the opposite side of the Thunderpath all the way into the grass just a few feet to the left. He turned his head.

The fur on his back stood on end. It was all... red. Bright, gooey red, scattered all over the grass and the dirt and the rocks. There, a white queen sat with the tiny form of seven-month-old Finchpaw. She had always been a small apprentice, the only kit and a runt at that, but she looked so frail...

He padded closer, very slowly, his fur standing further and further as he came closer. The smell was overpowering. It was everywhere. It stuck to his tongue and made him pant.

He stepped in blood. It was so thick he sunk into it and quickly pulled away; but to get closer meant he would have to step in it. So he did. He had never seen this much.

He looked down at Finchpaw's small body, trembling with every breath. Bile rose in his throat, but he choked it down. One of her legs was splayed out under her at a horrible angle, as if the entire bone had been reduced to ashes. The other leg was broken as well, though not as badly. But that wasn't the worst part - it was her stomach. 

He could only assume what had happened to her. Her belly had been split open, and the contents had spilled out all over the grass. He could feel the horrid heat radiating off of them, and it only added to the visage of how tiny she was, laying against the other cat. She was shaking so hard, and it smelled so raw.

"Thriftcloud?" came the tiny voice. He swiveled his head, shocked she could still speak. It was a tiny voice, meek and breathless. But it was a voice. Her top half had been left unscathed. _How cruel._ He wound the cobwebs around his forepaw and leaned forward.

"I'm here," he mewed softly, settling down. Finally, it all connected in his head and he realized the cat holding her was Willowwhisper. "What... What happened?"

"We..." Finchpaw's pretty green eyes dilated and ice shot through Thriftcloud's veins. But then they re-slitted and she came back to, lifting her head a little. "We were fighting.. ShadowClan cats. And then one.. she threw me, and there was a monster..."

"Save your breath, kitten." Willowwhisper's voice was gentle and comforting. "You need it."

"Am I going to die?" she asked softly, closing her eyes and wrinkling her nose. Little tears welled up at the corners of her eyes.

"No," Willowwhisper soothed before Thriftcloud could reply. "No, of course not, baby. You just need to rest, okay? We can't do anything to help you if you're too tired to heal."

"Do you promise?" Finchpaw asked shakily. 

"Yes," Willowwhisper said, nestling her foreleg under Finchpaw's head. "Just don't look at it, okay? Does it hurt?"

"No," Finchpaw said, rolling her head back. Thriftcloud started pulling cobwebs off of his foreleg and started gently setting them on her terrible wound. He hated it. He had to put his paws on the cobweb to secure them, and he could feel the bright red mass squish under his toes. How were they going to help her?

"It doesn't hurt?" Thriftcloud asked.

"No," she said softly. "It feels... like it should. But I just feel cold.."

"You'll be warm soon," Willowwhisper promised. "Do you know where you are?"

"I'm..." Finchpaw paused for a very long time. Thriftcloud felt his heart start to race. Then: "I'm at home?"

"You are," Willowwhisper soothed. "Did you already go training today?"

"Yeah," Finchpaw said. Her voice was quiet. Thriftcloud's forepaws were drenched in blood and they were sticky and slick all at the same time. The cobwebs were already drenched and coated red. He began to panic. 

"What did you learn?" Willowwhisper asked, drawing soothing licks across her cheeks. 

"She showed me how to pounce," she said. Her voice was a whisper now. "Why are my paws wet?"

"You're just cold," Willowwhisper mewed. Thriftcloud touched his paw to hers. They were drenched in sweat and they were quivering like a hummingbird's wing.

He stared at Willowwhisper nervously. _It's not working. What do I do?_

He'd never been this at a loss before. He always knew what to do. Exactly what herbs, how much, how often. What was wrong. He could set broken bones, pull kits out of their mothers. He'd even delivered kits from a dead queen before - Mistypaw had been in that litter. But _this_? His mentor never told him what to do when a cat's insides were... outside.

"Where's my mom?" Finchpaw asked suddenly. "Can I see my mom?"

"After you rest," Willowwhisper said. "Once you fall asleep we'll let her visit you." 

"Okay," Finchpaw said. Thriftcloud felt her heave, and suddenly she started to sob. "I'm scared."

"Why?" Willowwhisper asked.

"I'm going to die," Finchpaw said quietly. "I don't want to die."

Thriftcloud stared at her for a moment. His forelegs trembled. 

"Is there anyone waiting for you in StarClan?" Willowwhisper asked.

"I..."

There was a long, fearful pause.

"I think. My grandmother," Finchpaw said finally. "She... she died, a season ago, I think. Momma said she's waiting for me." 

"She is," Willowwhisper said. "And who else?"

"Frondkit," Finchpaw panted. "She's waiting for me. She was momma's first kitten. She died."

"Have you ever," Willowwhisper said, but cut off abruptly. Her next words were chosen carefully. "Have you ever seen someone die?"

"My grandmother," Finchpaw said. "I was with her..."

"What was it like?" Willowwhisper asked.

"She..." Finchpaw's head rolled and her legs spasmed and locked suddenly. Thriftcloud wasn't counting, but it felt like an eternity before they relaxed again. "She just fell asleep."

"You'll fall asleep," Willowwhisper soothed. "No need to be afraid."

Finchpaw's sobbing got quieter. Her chest stopped heaving quite so hard, though it was going quickly, as if she were breathing shallowly. 

"What do you want your warrior name to be?" Thriftcloud asked quietly. His tongue felt loose and clumsy in his mouth. 

"Finch- Finch..." she whimpered loudly. "I never could d-decide. What I wanted it to be." Her shaking stopped suddenly. "Actually, I think Finchleap is a cute name. I like that one. Or, uh, or Finchtooth."

The clarity in her voice made Thriftcloud lightheaded. What was happening?

"I like Finchleap. That's cute, I like that. I want Finchleap."

"Finchleap," Willowwhisper echoed. "I love that name. Don't you?"

Thriftcloud felt lost for a moment. "Yeah," he said finally. "Yeah, it's pretty."

"Are you afraid of dying?" Finchpaw asked abruptly. She lifted her head almost entirely up. Even Willowwhisper looked startled.

Thriftcloud didn't know how to answer. Her eyes were crystal-clear, as if nothing had happened. "A little," he mewed. "Only because I don't... know how I'll go."

"It doesn't hurt," Finchpaw said, with a shadow of a smile. "I only wish I wasn't so cold."

She settled back down and closed her eyes.

Her chest rose one time. It didn't rise again when it fell.

Thriftcloud felt his heartrate spike up as if he were being chased by dogs.

"Finchpaw?" he asked softly. "Finch- Finchpaw? Finchleap?"

"Thriftcloud," Willowwhisper mewed, "I- I'm so sorry."

"What?" Thriftcloud huffed, staring at her. "No, no, no. She's- She's fine. We just," he struggled to his paws. The sticky blood was drying between his toes. "We just have to get her home. Now that she's resting it won't hurt to move her.. I..."

"She's gone," Willowwhisper said. "I... I'm sorry. There was nothing either of us could do, and you know that."

"There has to be _something_ ," Thriftcloud snapped. "StarClan wouldn't..."

"They took her pain."

"They wouldn't be so _cruel_ ," Thriftcloud argued.

"They didn't-" Willowwhisper faltered and sighed, "They didn't let her die scared." 

"No!" Thriftcloud shrieked, suddenly smacking Willowwhisper across the face, forcing her away. "No. No. She- She didn't die. She's not dead. She's not."

Willowwhisper stared at him. ".. I'll carry her," she said at last. "You make sure she doesn't slide off."

"..... oh," Thriftcloud said, his throat in knots. "Okay. Okay. I can do that. I- I'll. I'll do that."

****

The blood-curtling scream that rang through camp was enough to make a kit deaf. 

It was so hard to watch. Thriftcloud couldn't pull his eyes away from the scene at the center of camp. Finchpaw - cleaned, nestled and cared for - lay at the middle of camp, under the shadow of the Highstone so she didn't get too warm. They'd buried her insides by the thunderpath.

Maplestrike was screaming. She was just _screaming_. There were no words, no tears, just... noise. Orchidmask stood beside her, a paw on his daughter's head and his head bowed. 

Thriftcloud felt his heart slowly pull into pieces, like cobwebs pulled apart. His mouth hung slightly open. _She can't be dead. Right?_ he willed her to just... get up. Apologize. Get up, dust herself off and go to bed. But she just lay there in the dark, her mother screaming.

"I have to go," Willowwhisper said to Thriftcloud. "This isn't my funeral to be at. I- I wish you luck in the coming moons," she said. Then she touched her nose to his ear and padded away, out of the bracken tunnel.

Thriftcloud had never felt so alone. 

The feeling of loneliness only increased as Maplestrike suddenly whipped around, her eyes full of fire as she approached him. "Why didn't you help her?"

"I." Thriftcloud's words clawed his throat. "I- I tried, Maplestrike. I did."

"It wasn't enough, it wasn't _ENOUGH!_ " she shrieked, her teeth flashing with each rising word. "What kind of medicine cat lets an apprentice die in such a horrible manner? How- how can you say you were chosen by StarClan? How?"

"I'm sorry, Maplestrike," Thriftcloud said, finding his head full of air. The words had to be fished for in an empty black sea. "I really tried, I couldn't... I, there was nothing..."

"There was _something_ ," Maplestrike snarled. "And that _something_ was my _daughter_. How do we know Mistypaw's safe in your paws?"

"Maplestrike," Orchidmask said finally. His voice was tired and aching.

"No! Don't _Maplestrike_ me," she growled. "Our daughter's life was lost because this fox-breathed liar pretended he was good at his job," she accused sharply. "Fernstar should have you exiled. Maybe you'll run onto the thunderpath and feel the same thing _she_ felt."

"Maplestrike!" Orchidmask barked. "Stop it. Now. This is inappropriate."

Maplestrike turned and looked like she was about to start on him. But her fur flattened. "You're right," she growled. "It's cruel to argue when our daughter isn't resting." 

Thriftcloud sucked in a deep breath as he watched her pad away. Her kits were tucked in the nursery, kept busy by one of the other queens. 

He started thinking about Mistypaw, who stood with the other apprentices. She had been so small when he pulled her out of her mother's belly, freezing cold but squalling like never before. Her father stood nearby, his heaviset frame intimidating as ever.

Would she be pulled from his teaching now? Would Maplestrike's words affect him that much? He cared so deeply for his daughter.

 _Maybe she isn't safe with me_ , he thought worriedly. _Maybe I am dangerous. Maybe I_ am _bad at my job._

His paws left sweaty padmarks on the sand and dirt as he moved to retrieve lavender from his den to prepare her for burial.


	2. Lost Light

_Thriftcloud._

_Thriftcloud._

_"What?"_

_It's not scary, Thriftcloud._

.

.

.

.

"Thriftcloud?!"

The blue tom jolted out of his sleep, gasping and coughing as he pulled his legs close to himself. He flattened his ears anxiously as he looked up at his apprentice, flicking his tail. "Yes?"

"It's already sunhigh," Mistypaw mewed in complaint. "You've slept in _again_."

"Oh," Thriftcloud said softly, getting to his paws and stretching. "Sorry. I don't - I don't know what got into me." Quite frankly, he was still incredibly tired.

"It's okay. Nothing happened," Mistypaw said. "I got lonely without you though."

"Aw." Thriftcloud touched noses with his apprentice, and together they padded out of the den, smelling strongly of mint leaves and borage.

The camp was quiet. This wasn't very typical of ThunderClan, renowned for its bustling home and busy bee cats. There was a patrol returning home with several bits of freshkill in their mouths, but they weren't chattering like typical.

"Guess they're still mourning over Finchpaw," Mistypaw said softly.

_It's not scary, Thriftcloud._

_I only wish I wasn't so cold._

_Thriftcloud?_

_Thriftcloud?_

_Please don't forget about me, Thriftcloud._

_You think it was scary for you?_

_Imagine how scary it was for **me** , Thriftcloud!_

"Thrift- Thriftcloud?"

The tom's head swiveled over to his apprentice, and he realized he was shaking violently. His paws were cold and wet, and his fur was stuck on end so high it felt like he was getting pine needles driven into his skin. His chest felt tight. 

"Are you okay?" the molly asked, pressing against him. 

"Yes," Thriftcloud said quickly, shaking his head as if to clear bees from his ears. "I'm sorry. Just got- got lost in my thoughts, I guess. It's fine."

"Are you s-"

"I'm _fine_."

Seeing his apprentice flinch at his tone hurt his heart, but he didn't have the mind to apologize. He trotted onward, lashing his tail. "Come on, let's go collect some herbs..."

"... Okay," Mistypaw said, her head lowered. "I- did I upset you?"

"No," Thriftcloud said shortly.

They traveled out to the snakerocks, where chervil and yarrow grew in droves. They spent about thirty minutes there before Thriftcloud remembered he should probably be reviewing these with his apprentice.

"Do you know what these are?" he asked softly.

"Yarrow and chervil," Mistypaw said.

"Do you know what they do?" Thriftcloud asked.

"Yarrow makes cats throw up," Mistypaw replied. "Chervil... I.. I don't know."

Thriftcloud was about to explain it to her, but she jumped up onto the stones and started plucking some of the chervil leaves from a higher crevice, and Thriftcloud decided against a continued lesson.

After they had collected as much of the herbs as they could, they started home. Mistypaw kept dropping flowers and leaves, but when Thriftcloud tried to tell her with gestures, she almost entirely ignored him. So they walked in the quiet forest, with the only sound being birdsong and the crunching of leaves under their pads.

They reached camp as the sun started to begin its descent into the sky. The day felt so _short_. He hated sleeping in. _Foolish, lazy creature... you're no better than an apprentice these days_ , he thought grumpily. _Sleeping in like a nursery kit!_

As they walked toward the medicine den, one of the other apprentices came walking up to them. "I hope I'm not interrupting, but," they said, "Thornpaw's nose is doing something weird."

Thriftcloud gave a nod and walked the rest of the way to the den, depositing his herbs. "Go bring Thornpaw here," He called over his shoulder to Snowpaw. They nodded and left casually, flicking their tail back and forth. They returned with Thornpaw, who was crosseyed looking at his own nose.

He settled down inside the medicine den, and Thriftcloud tipped his head up roughly to see what was wrong.

"I-" Thornpaw mewed before suddenly sneezing, and anxiously apologizing. As he apologized, blood suddenly ran out of his nose.

Thriftcloud moved his paw away once he realized what had happened, but it had already gotten onto his forepaw, and he shook it off. Little droplets scattered like rain across the floor of the den. 

"I'm sorry!" Thornpaw mewed worriedly. "I- I didn't know it was gonna bleed!"

"It- It's fine," Thriftcloud said, suddenly short of breath. "It's not your fault."

"Am I gonna be okay?" Thornpaw asked softly. "It's not normal for noses to bleed, right?"

Thriftcloud opened his mouth to answer, but found his head lost. He had to stare at the floor of the cave for a moment with his brows furrowed. "No, no, you'll be fine. It's- your..." He coughed hard in the back of his throat as he stared at the little smudge of blood still on his forepaw. "Your nose is probably just dry from the heat. Stay in here and pack some moss into it until it stops," he said finally.

"Are you alright?" Mistypaw asked, midway through tearing up a piece of moss. "You sound like you just ran from here to WindClan..."

"I'm okay," Thriftcloud said, now panting. It felt like stinging silverwire had been wrapped and squeezed about his chest, restricting his breathing beyond his control or comfort. "I don't know why I can't breathe. This..." He hummed a little, hoping it was perhaps a fixable chest infection. "Is- are you dizzy?"

"No..." Thornpaw said, holding a dainty paw to his nose. "But when I used to get dizzy, momma told me to go on a walk in a circle the way the world wasn't spinning. She said it helped."

 _That's right. He had that ear_ _infection_... "Did it help?" he asked absently.

"Sometimes," Thornpaw replied. "But I also fell over a lot."

"I- I think I'll go on a walk," Thriftcloud mewed. "Maybe it's just the air being stale. Mistypaw," he beckoned, looking at her as she helped Thornpaw get the moss into his nose safely. "Could you pull down the lichen by the entrance at some point while I'm gone? Maybe I'm getting sick..."

"Sure," Mistypaw mewed. "Be careful."

"I will."

Thriftcloud stood up and padded out of the den. He looked down to avoid the gaze of his Clanmates, but every time he did he would see that smudge of red on his forepaw and his throat tightened even more. 

_What are you running away from?_ The inner voice was his, but it felt foreign, as if a Clanmate was standing beside him whispering directly into his ear. _You're a medicine cat, you buffoon. You're supposed to know what's wrong with everyone. Including you. What's wrong with you?_

Thriftcloud shook his head and started trotting. Realistically there was no way to escape this voice, but it felt better to move faster. 

_Are you running away from your duties?_ it continued after a few moments of blessed silence. _You are, aren't you? Maplestrike was right. You pretended to be good at your job. Now look at you, caught in the act. Mistypaw would be better off a kittypet than your apprentice. It's a miracle she survived being born._

Thriftcloud trembled and started loping faster, his legs itching to do something other than alternate and listen to this.

_You're a true coward. Did you hear me? You're a coward. Are you listening?_

Why wouldn't it stop? He'd never thought like this before. None of his Clanmates - they'd never say this to him. Why was he saying it to himself?

His forepaw bumped into something, cold and hard. He looked down, expecting a rock. There were a lot of them in these parts.

But what he saw was Finchpaw.

She looked perfect. No broken legs, no split belly, no blood, no pain. Her eyes shimmered like moons and she smiled up at him benignly.

" _Hi_ ," she mewed. Her voice was soft and airy, and echoed like a thousand cats in the trees and undergrowth.

"Hi," he replied anxiously.

"Have you ever died before?" she asked, licking a forepaw and drawing it over her ear.

"No," Thriftcloud mewed.

She stood up. Her insides fell out of her stomach like a torn-open fruit with a rotten core, splattering all over the forest floor.

" **Then you're a fucking coward**."

Thriftcloud seized and jerked back, his fur frizzing out and his blood rushing away from his nose, turning it dry and cold. He swiveled on his paws and ran as hard as he could through the woods, tripping all over roots and stones he usually jumped over with nimble ease.

He couldn't do this anymore.


	3. Nights Spent Crying

The territory was bright and sunny. The birds were singing in the trees high above his head, and he stopped to relish in the joy of it all.

From behind him came a startling voice: "You shouldn't run so far ahead of me."

Thriftcloud turned around. "Stormdusk?"

"Who else?" the old tom asked, padding closer to him with his tattered ears flicking. "Is there anyone else you were expecting, young tom?"

"No," Thriftcloud said quickly. He felt so small next to his mentor. "Err, what are we looking for again?"

"What's happened to your impeccable memory?" Stormdusk asked, cuffing Thriftcloud over the head playfully. "We're looking for Blazing Star. Do you remember what that looks like?"

"It's yellow," Thriftcloud said softly. "And it's got... five petals," he remembered. "Like the five Clans."

"Correct," Stormdusk said as they padded through the territory. "And what do we use it for?"

"It cures greenleaf fever," he said. It felt nice to pad alongside his mentor. "And uh, it, it helps with headaches a bit, right?"

"Indeed," Stormdusk purred. "It also tastes good."

"Oh. Huh." 

As they walked, a distressingly acrid scent struck Thriftcloud's nose and reminded him where Blazing Star grew. "We're going to the thunderpath, aren't we?" he asked quietly.

"Of course. That's the only place it grows," Stormdusk murmured. "Why?"

"I don't want to go near the thunderpath," he said in reply. "I- something bad happened there."

"Oh, stuff it," Stormdusk chuckled warmly. "You'll be just fine. Bad things happen all the time to all sorts of cats. You can't avoid everything that upsets you or you'll never go anywhere."

Thriftcloud stared at his mentor, and lowered his head. "I guess you're right."

Finally, they slid through the undergrowth that edged the river of sticky black stone. "See it?" Stormdusk mewed, motioning with his nose to the opposite side of the thunderpath. "You go get it, you're faster than I am."

"Are you sure?" Thriftcloud asked softly. 

"Of course. This arthritis has it out for me," Stormdusk reminded him. "I'll keep watch and let you know if anything comes by. It's looking pretty quiet."

"Alright."

Thriftcloud glanced in either direction. No monsters coming for miles - not even their glaring headlights on the horizon. So he started at a leisurely pace across the thunderpath. Rushing caused every mistake, as Stormdusk said.

He flitted an ear as a faint rumble caught his attention. _A storm must be brewing_ , he thought.

And suddenly he was crushed beneath the most oppressive weight he'd ever experienced. He could feel and hear his insides shatter like thin ice, and the grit of the thunderpath dug into his skin, tearing it open. He let out a high-pitched wail and squirmed, but rapidly the weight was gone again. He tried to move, but his hind legs wouldn't answer his heeding call. 

He looked back to Stormdusk. He was staring coldly out at his apprentice, lashing his tail in clear disgust. "You let this happen, Thriftcloud," he growled. "Now you must feel the same pain she felt."

_It wasn't my fault!_ but Stormdusk was already departing into the shady trees.

The agony of his injuries struck him like a battering ram. He collapsed on his stomach, gasping for breath. He wanted to haul himself off of the thunderpath, but he couldn't move. He could hear another monster coming, rumbling toward him in the distance. He could see it, several treelengths off, coming at breakneck speed.

His breath caught in his throat. The pain was too much to even bear. It felt like a thousand wasps had been trapped in his belly and were chewing and stinging every sensitive piece of flesh they could find. Blood dribbled from his nose and he shuddered.

Moving felt like fighting against the forces of molasses. He slowly turned. He remembered Willowwhisper's advice to Finchpaw - _don't look at it_ \- but he couldn't help it. He had to. 

His stomach was split open and his legs were both turned in horrid, unnatural positions. Where the tear in his belly opened, thousands of bright red flowers, from poppies to thorny roses, spilled out of him and all over the ground. Sticky red blood webbed between each petal and stem.

He turned. The monster was in his face.

Thriftcloud let out a high-pitched scream and lurched out of his nest, his mind empty and fuzzy with fearful static. He scrambled to his paws, heaving in deep breaths as if he had just been saved from a drowning fate. His paws slid out from under him and he gazed wide-eyed at nothing. He could still feel that paralyzing pain, Stormdusk's cold eyes, the emptiness of the world as the monster bore down on him to finish what it had started.

He hunched over and vomited what little food he held in his belly all over the floor of the cave, shuddering harshly. Mistypaw jolted out of her nest and stared at him.

"Thriftcloud?" she asked, quickly coming to his side. "What happened?"

He couldn't force the words out of his mouth. He just stood there, staring at the mess he'd made.

"Your nest is wet. I'll - I'll replace it.." Mistypaw licked his shoulder. The shockwaves the simple contact sent across his skin made him jump back. "Sorry," she said. "I- hold on. I'll get you a new nest and some water moss and you can wash that out of your mouth okay?"

He stared absently at her as she carefully wrapped up his nest and dragged it out of the den, giving him a sympathetic but confused look on the way out. He struggled, for a moment, to ground himself.

_Nests are green. The sky is black. It smells like borage. I gave Embergaze borage. She's not making enough milk. She's got three kits. One is a tortie. One is black. One is... ginger? No, that's a tortie too. She smells like mouse fur. She likes mouse fur in her nest..._ Larkfeather _is the one with the ginger kit..._

He took a deep breath and tilted his head back to stare at the roof. His back slowly cracked and loosened. His legs felt sore. Looking down, he realized there was moss caught between his claws. Had he been thrashing?

When Mistypaw returned he trotted over and pressed his face against hers with great urgency.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"For what?"

"For yelling at you," he mewed. 

For a long time, they were quiet. Then, slowly, she walked him to her nest, and they curled up together.

"I'll get you new moss later," she said, her voice as meek as the stars in the morning. "I- I don't think you should be alone, right now."

He could not agree more.


End file.
